My dog was run over poem by Wayne Jackson

The dog lay in the street
a small
mass
of torn hair and blood pressed in pavement
and eyes hanging loose from the sockets.
and puddled liquid
soaking into rocks
quivering like
wind through light lines.
Once it licked and barked
its way about the house
chasing Boo and Boo him.
I didn’t see the car that hit him.
Was it someone I knew?
or a stranger driving swiftly on
an unknown road.
Couldn’t they have stopped
to make sure
to at least see
and mumble something
or other.
What would Boo say?
Could I tell him
it’s only sleeping
would he notice
it wasn’t moving
at
all